


mine.

by bitterheart



Series: namkianga. [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 14:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterheart/pseuds/bitterheart
Summary: Gilgamesh isn't the only one who gets possessive.





	mine.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/gifts).

The first time Gilgamesh hears it, he knows that it's not meant for his ears. Enkidu thinks that he is still in the training yard and by all rights, he should be. Gilgamesh has his pride and part of that is to maintain the strength needed to command all that he does. Except today, he's grown tired and restless sooner than even he would expect of himself. No matter the weapons that sit in his treasury, he holds them all and thinks that he would rather hold another. 

Gilgamesh is learning his heart, understanding how to interpret its beats and its skips and he knows this: it's Enkidu he wants to hold, and so it's Enkidu that he seeks. 

It's an unspoken rule that Gilgamesh and Enkidu do not train together unless they are intending to do nothing else for the rest of the day. What little self control Gilgamesh possesses, he loses in the fire of Enkidu's eyes and the radiance of their smile. They've already destroyed one training yard together. In the interest of Uruk remaining standing, they no longer fight within its walls. 

Enkidu is at the markets this morning and Gilgamesh finds himself walking there with no plan on how to find them among the crowd, but there's no need. Even in the crowd, Enkidu is a beacon, a light that reaches across any distance and shines upon Gilgamesh's heart. He finds them speaking to a vendor of a stall displaying baskets laden with ripe fruit, their bright colours standing out among the other produce. 

Gilgamesh steps closer and Enkidu doesn't notice him yet, their lips curved into a kind smile, their attention focused on the vendor. 

"You always insist on buying me out of everything I have," the vendor is scolding, even though there's a smile in her voice. "Does the king enjoy my fruit that much?" 

"He does," Enkidu answers, picking up a plum from one of the baskets and turning it in their hand, thumb stroking over its firm skin. The sight throws Gilgamesh into a vivid memory of the other night, of Enkidu feeding him a plum piece by piece, their fingers stained with the sweet juice of it until Gilgamesh sucked them clean. Enkidu chuckles, their voice impossibly fond as they say, "He loves them, and I only seek the best fruit for my Gilgamesh." 

The words make Gilgamesh's heart quicken its pace. Strange, how he's learning to understand the beats and patterns of his heart better with each day and still, it finds new ways of telling him what he already knows: that he loves Enkidu. 

He steps forward then, no longer able to help himself. Enkidu turns to him, and if Gilgamesh thought the smile they wore before was beautiful, the one they wear for him is radiant. 

"You're here," Enkidu says and in that moment, Gilgamesh can't imagine being anywhere else other than by their side. "Did you fight well in the training yard?"

"Always," Gilgamesh answers, offering his arm for Enkidu. "But never as well as I do with you."

"I would hope not." Enkidu's smile is sly, a dark hunger creeping into their gaze before it's gone again. They link one arm with Gilgamesh, the other holding a basket full of fruit. 

"You realise that the royal kitchens source their own fruit," Gilgamesh says, raising an eyebrow at the fruit heaped in the basket. 

"Mm. I also realise that I have a better taste for fruit. You always enjoy the fruit I select for you more."

Gilgamesh is certain that it has more to do with the fact that Enkidu insists on feeding it to him by hand, but says nothing on the matter as they walk through the market. On their own, they both gain plenty of attention but it's nothing compared to when they're together like this. The citizens of Uruk stop their shopping to watch as their king walks past, arm in arm with his—

Gilgamesh isn't sure exactly how to refer to Enkidu. Sometimes, Enkidu feels like the part of Gilgamesh that the gods left aside when making him, whether by accident or by design. He was perfect on his own but being with Enkidu makes him something more that he can only think of as complete. Enkidu is his equal, his friend, his heart, his weapon, so many things that it feels impossible to think of a single word to encapsulate it all. 

His Enkidu, he thinks to himself and hums as he considers it. He likes the thought of it and wonders if perhaps that is why Enkidu referred to him similarly. 

He doesn't bring it up until later that night, when they're in bed with the plate of plums Enkidu insisted on slicing themselves. Gilgamesh had made a point of trying one of the plums served at dinner earlier that evening and now, he can't deny that these are sweeter even if he's uncertain whether it's his own bias playing a part. 

"Earlier today," Gilgamesh says, stilling Enkidu's hand as they reach for another slice of fruit. "When I found you in the market, you were talking to the seller of this fruit." 

Enkidu smiles. "Yes."

"You called me something interesting then." 

Enkidu's smile grows wider, fonder. They reach for Gilgamesh's hair, stroking it. "You heard that." 

Gilgamesh hasn't stopped thinking about it all day but it feels too revealing to admit to that, even to Enkidu. "I've never heard you call me that before." 

"I do so frequently," Enkidu tells him. Their fingers trail to Gilgamesh's cheek, then trace the line of his jaw. "For that's what you are." 

"Say it again," Gilgamesh murmurs. "To me." 

Enkidu pushes the plate of fruit aside, settling closer to Gilgamesh until there is no longer any space between them. Their hands settle on Gilgamesh's face again, holding the sides of it as they hold his gaze. "You are my Gilgamesh. I may not feel worthy of having you but you are mine all the same, as you so love to remind me." 

"I do," Gilgamesh agrees. "I am yours just as you are mine." 

"Say it," Enkidu says to him this time, their eyes bright. 

Wrapping an arm around them, Gilgamesh pulls Enkidu in until their foreheads rest together. "My Enkidu. That's what you are, now and forever." 

Enkidu hums softly, delighted, just before they kiss him. "Yes, I am."


End file.
